Classic Poem

‘Under which king?’ you ask, my friend.
‘The Hermit of the Suffolk shore?—
The Tent-maker of Naishápúr?—
Omar , Fitz Gerald —which?’ Perpend.

The great Corneille , when pressed of yore,
To judge two sonnets, answered thus:—
‘One, in its way, is marvellous;
And yet—I like the other more.’

This is my case betwixt your twain.
But if you further question why
I sit in this brave company,
I will—with your good leave—explain.

Life is a toilsome thing at best:
We all too-heavy burdens bear,
And groaning 'neath our load of care,
Run to and fro in search of rest.

We find it where this board is set:
Kind looks across the napery gleam;
The Past, the Future, grow a dream;
And—for the moment—we forget.

Omar , Fitz Gerald —these are all
But phantasies. We snuff the air;
The green spot in the desert bare;
The Opiate of the Interval!